


let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

by incarnandine



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, Kanda quoting Mr. Darcy, Lavi is head over heels, M/M, literature student!Kanda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incarnandine/pseuds/incarnandine
Summary: Usually, he would say something funny; flirt back, give the guy a wink, but the man’s eyes seriously promise him fifty shades of murder if he even dares to say a word - then, he realizes why: he just managed to spill the contents of an entire cup on the other's immaculately ironed, crisp white shirt.Talk about bad luck.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand here it is! My favourite Yuuvi fic to write that began with a "Kanda/Lavi university AU" request from the amazing [crouleek](http://crouleek.tumblr.com) (seriously check out her drawings they're _amazing_ ) and grew up to be three drabbles long with more surely coming!
> 
> The drabbles are related (set in the same verse) but please keep in mind, this is not a chaptered fic _per se_ , so there might be time-skips (not big, though) and a lot of inbetween is implied.

Half a semester into his transfer to the Black Order University, it starts to snow.

It shouldn’t be surprising; it’s December already, Lavi thinks, pulling up a large red scarf to cover his frost-bitten nose, but _still_. Half of him is quite excited to see snow: he lived in various places around the world, after all, travelling with his grandfather a lot since the time he was just a tiny kid - but most of them were warm, and if they weren’t, he just… happened to visit them in warmer months of the year, or something. Call it pure luck.

Not that he doesn’t _like_ winter, he’s just… not used to it. Well, everything has a downside, he thinks, shuffling into the campus cafe, happy that he actually found a moment when the line to the counters was decently short.

The Black Order University is a prestigious place, full of world-known professors and teaching at the highest academic level; it took him three years to get admitted on a student exchange, and he’s definitely not going to go back to southern France just because the British Isles happen to have a terribly shitty weather.

Or maybe that’s just the French part of him speaking; Lavi doesn’t actually know if there is /anything/ really French in him, but hell; he lived there, he speaks the language, probably absorbed a _hate-everything-English_ attitude with his morning croissants or something. Not that he truly hates everything English, though; on the first day, he already made a friend in the form of soft-spoken, gentle Allen Walker, who is an Englishman from head to toe with his polite manners and delicately woven sarcasm and perfect accent, and Lavi loves Allen with all his heart - despite his Englishness, it seems.

“Tall ginger, please,” he winks at the girl behind the counter, while pointing jokingly to his messy hair and moves to the adjacent fridge to look for a sandwich to go along with it, but then, his shoulder meets a hard object - hard, tall, _holy hell fucking handsome_ object with long black hair and an icy glare, who spits at him something similar to _watch the fuck where you’re going_ and– wow, sandwich, yeah.

Definitely.

Usually, he would say something funny; flirt back, give the guy a wink, but the man’s eyes seriously promise him fifty shades of murder if he even dares to say a word - then, he realizes why: he just managed to spill the contents of an entire cup on his immaculately ironed, crisp white ( _fuck that seems expensive_ , Lavi’s mind supplies) shirt. Talk about bad luck.

“Sorry,” he manages a sheepish smile, “do you want me to get you another?”

The stranger just glares at him some more, then turns on his heel and storms out.

Lavi just whistles; oh, this is going to be _fun_.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, honestly, let me help you with this,” Lavi almost begs, because the stranger’s eyes are boring a hole through his head and he doesn’t know why, it’s just coffee, come _on_. “I’ll give you my sweater, but– let me wash that shirt for you?” he offers once more (knowing that it will cost him his monthly scholarship at the very _least_ ) and the other finally agrees, storming in the general direction of the bathrooms before Lavi’s brain even registers to follow.

A few minutes later, he’s stripped down to a teal tee and a crisply ironed (and promptly coffee-stained) shirt is thrown straight into his face.

Holy _strike_ , it even smells expensive. Expensive and very, no he’s not going to say that out loud, _of course not_ –

“Sexy.”

The stranger whips around in a flash and Lavi barely manages to pull up a hand to protect his jaw from colliding with a strong, angry fist.

“Sorry,” he laughs a little, trying to cover his embarassment, “just admiring myself in the mirror. Anyway,” he picks up the shirt from the floor and smoothes it out a little on the nearby sink. “Who should I return this to?”

“Are you _dumb_?” the man glares even more; Lavi didn’t think it was even humanly possible. “To me.”

“And you are…?” he asks again, tentatively; what if he just ran into some kind of a campus celebrity that everyone is supposed to know about? What if it’s an _actual teacher?_ He feels himself going a little pale and very, very stressed, until the other finally decides to answer.

“Kanda.” Oh, so he has a name. Nice. “Classical Lit, third year. If you can’t find me in class, just leave the shirt with the beansprout, he’ll know where to find me.”

Lavi isn’t sure who, or what, exactly the ‘beansprout’ is; but the fact that the handsome stranger - Kanda, is it? - has a name and is enrolled in an actual course at the university is a very, very valuable piece of information that he is going to cherish (and use at his own willing when applicable).

The outside air is colder than before (maybe because he’s now short of one piece of clothing) and it bites at Lavi’s hands as he pulls out the phone to scroll down the university portal to the timetables for different faculties.

Literature… oh, there it is; his finger taps the link with a soft clicking sound.

Then, he clicks on _Classical_. _Third year_.

 _Bingo_.


	3. Chapter 3

Japanese literature turned out to be a major pain in the backside; out of sheer curiosity, Lavi had taken it up as an optional course - claiming to want to broaden his horizons and hey, if Mr. Kanda the Gorgeous was taking it it was bound to be good… or so he thought until the end of semester rolled around and there turned out to be an actual exam at the end of it.

It’s not that Lavi had problems with studying, no; History was a difficult major and so was linguistics, and on top of that he had always enjoyed books - however, the temptation to pretend to be a little less of a top student just to get study sessions with a certain black-haired gentleman proved too strong to resist. Luckily for him, in a two-pack with Kanda came his (admittedly also very cute, but not quite Lavi’s type) roommate Allen - same Allen that he met on the first day of class, Lavi realized belatedly - and well, that one was more than happy to get _stupid Kanda_ off his back for a day or two, claiming that even the likes of him would use some fresh air and actual human interaction.

“So,” Lavi licked his lips absentmindedly, browsing through his neatly organized notes that currently cluttered one of the university library’s tables, “the main axis to analyse Osamu Dazai’s work is to look for the critical approach of the human condition and for autobiographical elements in his novels, but he was also a skilled parodist and most of it can be taken with a grain of s–” he halted, looking up quickly when he heard a disgruntled noise. “What? I’m just reading what the teacher said,” he explained, waving the piece of paper in front of the other boy.

“Why the hell are you reading it out loud,” Kanda sighed, rubbing his temples. “Besides, it’s– how the fuck do I explain it,” he scribbled something on the other side, then shoved it under Lavi’s nose. “This is how Western literature goes. Those,” he pointed to one column on his notes, then to the other, “those are the main points of whatever shit Dazai wrote. If you find inspirations and parallels between this and Western existentialism, that’d be easier for you to analyze,” he shrugged. “I guess.”

Lavi felt almost insulted by Kanda’s implications of his closemindedness, but the hints the other boy gave him turned out to actually be more useful than anything he came up with by himself.

“Quite a bookworm, aren’t you?” he smiled fondly, sliding a box of cookies over the table to where Kanda sat. “I didn’t expect that at first. I thought you’d study– I don’t know, uptight stuff like Law, or something, but– wow.” His smile grew bigger. “So, what’s your favourite? I know you do Classical, but– I don’t know, Greek? French? British?” he propped his elbows on the table, leaning closer. “Are you a secret Jane Austen fanboy and just pretend to give out Mister Darcy vibes because he was your childhood idol?”

“Do shut up if you want to keep doing this,” Kanda rolled his eyes at him. “ _My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."_

Lavi lifted his head slowly, eyes wide as saucers and mouth hanging slightly agape.

_The fucker just straight out quoted fucking Mr. Darcy at him._

Oh, he was _so_ in love.


End file.
